


Roseus

by laratoncita



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Love, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laratoncita/pseuds/laratoncita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>stream of consciousness. rolf & luna & love & life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roseus

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine!

Oh how I longed for you. It was us and it was you and it was me, together, here, beside a forest and tent and so in love oh so happy I wished I could die.

I still wish I could die, you know. So much better than thinking of the _what if's_ and the _how's_ and the _what could have been_.

We were too young, you know. At least, you were. I never even knew you, too old for you - they still say that now, now when you are not even fully gone in my heart and I'm left here with our boys and the daughter you left long ago with a man who still thinks the world of you. I feel old.

How do I do this, my love? How do I tell the boys their mother will not return and how do I tell the daughter that she has your eyes when her father has a woman who can be a better mother than the father I will be? I could have done it. With you, I could have done the impossible, pulled down the moon you were named after. I'll do it, see, if you come back.

Oh Luna my Luna come back to me please.

What is a child without a mother? What am I, your husband, without you, my life? We have barely begun our own, the boys barely five and poor Ginny crying all the time, hunched over that swollen body that has promised her a daughter like your own. The husband says to me, "We'll name her after _her_ , you know, if that's alright," because the boy seems to still think that he needs permission when it is all of us that need to thank him. Well, not you. You helped him, my love, you make me proud to love you. Make me feel honored.

I told them to dress you in red because I want you to always carry the love I have for you _with_ you, to remember the passion in our hearts and the dreams that we shared. You are my one and my only and while I understand that you would want me happy I think you should understand that I will be, with time, so long as I can always remember you and can tell myself that it was - is - real and that, yes, it will last forever. You are my life and you always will be.

Red, my dear! Yes, red for courage because you are the bravest woman I know, and the happiest, and the loveliest and oh, dear, dear dear dear why must it be this way? I want to celebrate your wondrous life but how I wish it were not so. Twenty-six is too young to die and just barely old enough to live. Will you not return to me? Some day? I shan't say soon for our sons need a family but how I wish, how I wish for you every day. Is it too cliché to think of my flower? To call you rose because the preciousness of your very existence broke me and mended me all at once?

We're almost like a Muggle film but we won't have a happy ending, will we? I only know I'll give my all to give our son's one.

This love story is a fairytale, magic unlike that which we know. I, eight years your senior, and you, blond and blue eyed and with a smile as glorious as the celestial body of your name. I can remember it oh so clearly, you in a pale blue dress, slender shoulders under the arm of George Weasley, tossed of course, but you were so kind to him, so kind to everyone. You and Mister Thomas were still involved then, still as happy as two war criminals could be - which is to say, not much. But you tried! you genuinely did and when it ended it was cordial, and he said he still loved you and you said you always would too however by then you had decided to join me in the Alps and within a year we had the boys.

It's a fairytale, it is it is. Your little gestures and the beauty in your profile when you turned away from me, and the discussions on the marvelous creatures you'd been taught to believe and which you were slowly sifting into neat little compartments labeled plausible and lovely. Lovely like you, my dear, and since the night of a party commemorating a success in reconstructing of the world destroyed in warfare. Ever the pacifist, you'd fought either way. Very Gryffindor of you but so very Ravenclaw, too, to realize how exactly one could do it.

Of course it led to us! Of course we fell in love! My love for you knows nothing besides the smoothness of your cheek beneath my palm, the softness of your hair, the firm grip of our hands together. Our sons are testament to this, proof that what we have will last the tests of time no matter the fate that falls upon us. That already fell upon you. Oh, oh my dear, return.

Here is how it began (mostly because I don't want to think about how it ended): I am sitting in a chair, chatting with one person, turning to another, when I catch sight of you. As I said, you are with the remaining Weasley twin, and when you finally find someone better suited to sloshed males, you manage to find yourself to my table, where you launch into discussion on Thestral rights. I knew who your mother was, of course, most do, but I don't make the connection until later. I still apologize for it, though, will for a long time, will tell the story to the boys over and over again until it is ingrained on their tongues the way our love is on my heart.

After a stretch of several minutes you and I fall into conversation, and then the party is over but you and I, we are still speaking, still sharing the beginning of several years of happiness (though we don't realize it until later). I buy you some tea and you reciprocate with pumpkin bread, and then you are off to dear Mr. Thomas and I to a little flat in the heart of the country, the house we still live in. Or, well, rather, the one I live in. Now.

A year later you are the proud mother of one Liora Thomas and I send a congratulatory owl, still thinking of your eyes, and then two months after the lovely little girl's birth it's announced that you and Mr. Thomas have split up, still kind to the other, and that you are looking for a house in my neck of the woods. Six months after that you and I are in a relationship and six months after that we are wed.

So magnificent, so you. What more could a man ever need?

It was a whirlwind wedding amongst flowers, yellow in your hair and among the rows of people, Ginny smiling and my brother laughing, too, the families we were born to and those that we had stitched together coming to wish us luck and happiness. How silly - that happiness was already ours. It was unending, would be, still, if not for the misfortune that must follow such a perfect woman (you). I can't imagine what I would be like without you. I can't imagine what I'll do, now.

You gave me two magnificent sons but Luna my dear I don't think you understand the things I would sacrifice for you. The things I would give to trade spots with you, to give our sons and the daughter we share the mother that they deserve. What am I, without you? What does this world seek to show me, if you are not there to decipher her messages? You are my life, my light, and all those other phrases in all those other tongues, the words that show the contents of our hearts to the world and say, "Yes, this is real!"

Death should not succeed because the Healers have failed.

Without you I am nothing; lend me strength from your past to make sure this ends well. Well enough for them - our sons and your daughter, all the loved ones that you must leave behind, for the world who doesn't realize the power you've always lent to us - to forget, and for the two of us to never regret this painful clearing unrelenting fate that was given to us.


End file.
